


Vigilance

by SinSerenade



Series: The Alternates [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dany&Drogon alone are lovable idiots, Dark!Dany, F/M, Screw Season 8, aegon the conquerer come again, also super duper cool mother and dragon!son mind bond, but publicly are Mother of Monsters, heres your free tiara and dragon tattoo, join the club mads lads, just ruthless, not mad!!, only requirement is to live and serve dany until your last breath, or delusional, the throne dies like canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 10:17:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19423948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinSerenade/pseuds/SinSerenade
Summary: Daenerys Targaryen does not enter the throne room alone, in a city she has just set ablaze. Instead she enters with her son, the only one who has loved her as much as she loved him, who has always been there in the toughest moments of her life. A monster others fear and cower in terror when they catch sight of his shadow. A monster that still tries to crawl into her lap to be petted.For who can love a dragon but another dragon?





	Vigilance

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, so different alternate universes for the fate of Daenerys Targaryen, so get ready crazy ladies and mad lads. It's just ever since I actually posted Look Alive, I'm feeling confident to post more stuff I've got sitting around.
> 
> Also if you've come here for snuggley wuggley jonerys fluff where they make up in the end and fly off into the sunset, kindly back the fuck out and don't leave comments about how "they'd never!" because I can guarentee you that every chapter is dark!dany (but not mad queen) so...
> 
> enjoy?
> 
> [picture is 'Mother of Dragons' from HBO Game of Thrones, done by artist and illustrator Naomi Robinson]

The ash coating the swords catch in the soft breeze, tickling her nose and leaves her standing in front of the throne, face scrunched as she wonders if the dead in the street are worth the prize after all, if maybe she should've burnt it all to the ground. She's taken from her thoughts, when the little puffs of breath from her son behind her rustle her hair and the strands flutter over her shoulder, getting caught in the links of her chain that hold her cape. The ground shakes and vibrates with every shuffle of his feet and he grumbles behind her, impatient and the tethers in their mind flick and pull tight as she can feel the curiosity creep along the threads that connect them.

Her fingers slowly reach out to graze against the pommel of one the swords that serves as an armrest and the ash coats against her skin, congregating in the ridges that decorate her hand. It's cold to the touch and sends chills racing up her arms and across her scalp and for a second, _just a second_ , she stands still and believes her ancestors are there looking down upon her. She's quick to lose the thought, never much one for ghosts or gods.

It's all disappointing really, the throne doesn't hold up to the image she's had since she was a child. When her brother spoke of it, she had imagined thousands upon thousands of swords, stacking high to create a mountain of blades so tall that the court below would only be able to gaze upon the soles of your feet. It was a silly thought only a little girl who could barely count to twenty was capable of.

Slowly to savour the moment, she turns around with her hands reaching backwards to grasp at the pommels of the armrests and gently lowers herself onto the blades. Her eyes close and she takes a deep breath once, twice and then a third time before she relaxes into the throne and a smile blooms on her cheeks. Once comfortable she looks up to Drogon who towers above her and watches every movement closely. His body takes up most of all the space in the room and his wings are pulled in tight to prevent them brushing against broken pillars. There's ash dotting his scales, piling up on his spikes and lining his frills, and she finds herself distracted as she admires the pretty red colour threaded through his scales that emulate the sigil of their house and match her very own dress.

Drogon chirps in response to her thoughts and flairs his frills in pride, but also to show off and she can feel his own love and joy echo along hers where it comes to sit comfortably heavy in her chest. She leans back carefully, shoulders shifting from side to side in order to find a position where a handle doesn't dig into her spine or a blade doesn't pull at the threads of her dress. She throws one leg over the other and her head tilts backwards as a smirk edges its way onto her face.

"What do you think?"

Drogon merely snorts, his head turning away and his eyes slide across the room, cataloguing every mound of bricks and piles of ash. His tail knocks against one of the doors to the room and the spikes get lodged into the wood. The hinges screech as he tries to loosen his tail carefully and eventually he growls, teeth bared and sways on his feet before ripping his tail away and the door gets yanked with it, only to crash against the wall and explode into a shower of splinters.

She waits patiently, tapping a nail against her lower lip as she tries not to laugh at his frustration and when he finally settles she can't help but to poke fun, "I guess you're not impressed."

His eyes flit back towards her, glancing at the throne once before resting on her face. With a gentleness her son has only ever shown her, he brings his head closer and the spikes lining his chin come to rest against the top of her legs. She cradles his jaw in her hands, nails scratching lightly against the dark scales and she leans forward to press a sweet kiss to the space between his nostrils. Drogon's eyes blink slowly once, twice and he leans in further as his eyes shut and he begins to purr. The vibrations tickle against her palms and shy little giggles slip through her lips as he begins to trill bird-like noises while the frills on his neck rattle silently in his joy.

They sit quietly like this together, both taking advantage of this rare moment of peace to bask in each other's presence, the only noise to occasionally break the atomsphere is her nails tracing the red scales surrounding his eyes and his replying warbles.

It doesn't last long like many things in this wretched city, the peace ruined by solitary footsteps. Drogon hears them before she does, his head swinging around with a thundering snarl that resonates throughout the room and she watches as the ash lining the throne shudders and slides off, floating down. When she glances up, she momentarily catches a glimpse of the dual direwolves on the dull breastplate before her vision is obscured by the leathery wing blocking her from the intruder's sight. It seems Jon Snow has come to talk at last.

She stands up, taking her time to rearrange her dress before she travels forward to pass under the arch of Drogon's wing, her fingers trailing against the delicate maroon membrane and he lumbers his body out of the way slowly, reluctantly. As his chest rises upward, she can spy Jon through the spikes until he finally comes into view with a frown pulling his lips down, his eyebrows pinched together and his pace picks up when he meets her gaze.

He's no more than twenty paces away when Drogon begins to eye him up, a growl rumbling from his chest and his lips curl back to bare his teeth when Jon ignores the warning. His neck coils and his head hovers beside her own and with every step closer Jon gets, she can feel the temperature begin to rise. She can spy teeth at the edge of her vision parting slightly, can feel the warmth from the flames churning in the back of Drogon's throat illuminate her skin. That's when Jon stops, when he realises that she isn't going to put a stop to the dragon's blatant threat and his feet shuffle nervously, shoes grating against the stone floor. His eyes jump from the flames beginning to lick between long, sharp curving teeth and to the cool impassive look resting on her face.

She merely waits, a hand reaching around to pull her son closer, the flames dancing through her fingers.

It doesn't take long.

"I saw them executing Lannister prisoners in the street."

She can't stop her eyebrows twitching up in surprise, to know that he came all this way up here, just to tell her the things she already knows. He continues on, speaking haltingly and his hands rest againt his hips, fingers clenched into white knuckled fists.

"They said they were acting on your orders."

She waits a moment, wondering if she's picking up on the correct implied question and when he stands there waiting on her to respond, she guesses that maybe her lover didn't know her as well as she knew him. Her voice is soft, gentle to the troubled thoughts he can't seem to come to terms with.

"It was necessary."

"Necessary?" His voice raises in pitch, incredulous and his eyes narrow into a glare.

"Have you been down there? Have you seen?!"

He's beginning to spit his words now, venom curling around every syllable and she can understand why they call him the White Wolf when his face contorts into snarl.

"Children! Little children burned!" 

The words echo around them and they seem to curl around her throat, grasping tight and her breaths shorten to quick little rapid gasps that are silent to the ears. They dry her lips and her tongue darts out to wet them while her foot slides backwards, just marginally and she has to stop herself from retreating back underneath Drogon's wing. She had been down there. When she was finished setting fire to the buildings, she had set Drogon down near one of the bell towers and went on foot to survey what was left. She saw the dead, the ash and it didn't make her feel regret or send her into a dizzying spiral of self-doubt and panic. She had kept placing one foot in front of another and Drogon had followed her every step of the way.

It was only when she had stumbled upon an orphanage, the building collapsed but the doorway held strong and there were curled up bodies, some sprawled out with their arms grasping onto the cobblestones in the street, that made her think they were crawling their way out to escape. Their skins were black and crackling, still burning with the fire she had set loose and when she saw the tiny corpse held in another's arms, that's when she began to cry. She had fell to her knees, fingers hovering over the mishapened skull and wondered what was the last thing this person thought as they held the baby close and braced for the destruction. Did they sing to it, did they try their best to run away or did they merely accept their fate and waited, watching as the fire began to descend.

That's where Grey Worm found her, kneeling and grasping at little dead corpse with tears washing away the soot on her face. There were a host of Unsullied marching down the street with him and there were a group of Lannister soldiers in the middle of the pack, surrounded and taken prisoner. Drogon's tail had curled around her, a clear warning for anyone that she was not to be approached but when Grey Worm climbed over the spikes, he had stood still and allowed him access.

She didn't want to be the cause of such death and destruction but she had grown tired of dealing with Cersei, of knowing that she would hide behind other people, thinking that she would be safe from her wrath. She had killed her son, had killed her best friend and that had sealed her fate. There would be no more mercy. She had wanted to see the smirk fall from Cersei's face, see the panicked expression as she realised that her enemy was willing to burn through those innocents to get to her and that yes, this was a war she would not be surviving.

"I tried to make peace with Cersei, more than once. Instead she gathered the people around the Red Keep and tried to use their innocence as a weapon against me." She watches Jon's face go slack and she understands that this is not what he wants. He wanted teary regrets and blubbering apologies, for her to grasp at his arms and to beg for forgiveness.

"She thought it would cripple me." Her own anger creeps its way through her emotions, annoyed that Jon can't see past this pedestal people have put her on and that yes, even her mercy has a limit.

"And Tyrion?"

Her head tilts, eyes narrowing to stare at him. Tyrion? The man who thought letting slavery continue for another seven years was worth the suffering, who has failed her time and time again since they've set foot on Dragonstone. The one who had come to her in the hopes she would protect him from and kill his sister but instead betrayed her, releasing his brother who then went into the city in order to try and sneak Cersei out.

"He conspired behind my back with my enemies. How have you treated people who have done the same to you?" She steps forward, coming closer while Drogon trails behind her. Jon shakes his head in disbelief and he struggles to look her in the eye, his breath shaky and she can see the tears starting to gather at the corner of his eyes, threatening to spill forth.

"Forgive him."

Her own eyes begin to water at his emotions, voice a soft whisper but the words still manage to catch and she stutters.

"I-I can't."

"You can."

Her fingers grasp at the fabrics of her skirt, clenching tightly and dragging it into the fists as Jon becomes more frantic. His head shakes once more, stepping closer and she can feel her own tears lingering on her lids, chest growing tight at his expression. She never wanted to make him cry.

"You can forgive all of them. Make them see they made a mistake. Make them understand."

She hesitates and his voice becomes pitiful as he begs.

"Oh please, Dany."

Oh, Jon. Her sweet and kind nephew. He hasn't seen what she has, the way lords and ladies hoard their gold and food while the people under their care suffer. They don't care, too busy clawing their way up and grasping at whatever little power they can steal. Her act of terror today is nothing compared to the rot that dwells in this society, the hard working people who only care about putting food on their table and making sure their family has a safe place to sleep while the nobles increase taxes with every year, taking and taking and _taking_ until there is nothing left but bones under sunken skin.

"We can't hide behind small mercies. The world we need won't be built by men loyal to the world we have."

She is gentle in her words, she knows this isn't easy. It wasn't in Meereen and in a land where people crowed about their honour, demanding to be recognised as better because they don't have slavery yet still exploit those more vulnerable, well, they will learn. One way or another.

"The world we need is a world of mercy; it has to be!"

"And it will be." She takes the final steps closer, the toe caps of her boots knock against his, a hand coming to rest on his chest and her nails trace the leather indents of his armour. She tilts her head backwards to hold his gaze and she doesn't flinch away from the emotions he's presenting.

"It's not easy to see something that's never been before," Her voice softens with every word and a smile curls her lips, dimples in her cheek, "a good world."

Jon's voice is clogged, choking and her fingers pull her sleeve up over her wrist to wipe away the tear that has escaped his eye, "How do you know? How do you know it'll be good?"

"Because I know what is good, and so do you."

He shakes his head, swaying back onto the balls of his feet and she curls a hand around his shoulder to stop the distance growing between them, pulling him back to her.

"You do! You've always known." He sniffs and swallows the lump in his throat, gives a choked little gasp of air and his forehead rests against hers.

"What about everyone else? All the other people who think they know what's good?" Her smile is a small sorrowful thing and her laugh puffs quietly through her nose, she thought he would know by now.

"They don't get to choose."

The wrinkles around his eyes smooth out, face falling flat and he just watches her quietly for a second and she waits. His hand raises to cup her jaw before they slide further back and curl around her neck to hold her close.

"Be with me." Her own fingers curl around his wrist as she pleads with him, her other hand gripping his hip to hold his body against hers.

"Build the new world with me. This is our reason. It has been from the beginning since you were a little boy with a bastard's name and I was a little girl who couldn't count to twenty. We do it together. We break the wheel. Together."

He smiles at her, a strained quirk to his lips and he murmurs, "You are my Queen, now...and always."

The grip around her neck is firm as he pulls her close, heads tilting and eyes drifiting shut and finally, they kiss. A delicate brush of lips that sends goosebumps across her arms and she can't stop the quivering sigh that escapes, getting caught between the next kiss. His free hand trails down her arm, fingers becoming tangled in the loose fabric hanging from her sleeves and she hums as his tongue brushes against her bottom lip.

She goes to pull her head back when he goes in for a third kiss but can do no more than jerk roughly against the hand that keeps her in place. She's confused as he kisses her harder, tongue brushing against hers almost desperately and she can feel the panic clawing against her lungs when she can't escape on the second attempt to end the kiss. The hand wrapped around her neck finally relents, fingertips trailling against the edge of her jaw before it falls from her skin and -

Her eyes blow wide open when a deafening roar bellows directly overhead, her ears ringing and she gets thrown to her knees from the sheer power of the fire she's blasted with, a cry bursting from her lips when her cheek is forced to the side to escape the pain that blooms aross it. Her hair whips wildly around her face, the ties keeping it together burned to nothing and the dancing orange flames finally fade from view. The light shining from the caved in roof disappears as a great shadow descends over her and she can pick out the layered spikes that makes up the natural armour of her son.

"Drogon?"

He stands over her, wings braced on each side and the agitated swaying of his tail creates a draft that ruffles the tattered remains of her dress, a sleeve barely hanging onto the strips of her bodice and her skirt has been reduced to nothing. The riding leathers underneath have been burned away to just above the knee on her right but the left is intact and her boots no longer exist. Something wet, she thinks, hisses furiously on her cheek and when she brushes her fingers against it, she discovers a thin and long wound stretching down her cheekbone that begins to bleed again at her touch.

"What is...I don't...Jon?"

When she looks up, chest heaving in her confusion and looks past Drogon's snarling maw, she sees Jon trying to rise up before him. He's crying and underneath the clothes that survived the fire, she watches his skin bubble and pop, hissing with steam. His breastplate has melted into his chest, the skin tugging with every breath he takes, unable to do more than kneel before the dragon's judgement.

She crawls forward on scuffed and bleeding knees, her hand reaching up as Drogon lowers his head, wrapping around the offered horns to help her stand up. Her ankles wobble with every step and as she gets closer, more of Jon is revealed and that is when she sees the dagger in his grasp.

It has a fading glow to the blade, the point drooping and the handle seems to have become fused to the palm that holds it. His wrist is broken, the bone poking out a black husk. Most likely caused when he was flung away by the blast of the fire.

They stay there, silent for except Drogon's rumbling growls and the steady 'drip, drip, drip' of the blood that has slid down her chin in rivulets, staining the ash beneath her feet.

The joy she had just begun to feel dwindles away into nothing, disintergrating to ash like that which surrounds her and she can feel rage frothing in her throat that is echoed back by the tethers pulsating wildly between her and her son.

Hurried footsteps echo from the doorway and she doesn't look away from Jon, the horror; the shock at what he attempted; still holding her gaze against his begging teary eyed stare. A mob of Unsullied pour into the room led by Grey Worm. When he catches sight of the situation, he immediately bursts into a sprint and slides underneath Drogon's neck to reach her while the rest surround them, spears pointed at Jon's throat. His hand brushes her hair away from her face carefully and the quick intake of breath as he notices her wound, frightened by the blood that has begun to spread down her neck finally brings her to look at him.

"Daenerys?" Grey Worm's decorum has been abandoned in the terror he feels at the sight of her hurt, scared that he might lose another person he holds close. She lets herself be brought into the hug he initiates, whispering song-like valyrian words into his ear, " _I'm fine, only a cut_."

They part, reluctantly and both turn to Jon, Grey Worm walking behind him to grap what's left of his hair to pull his head back and place a knife at his throat. He looks at her, questioningly.

"Why?" Her voice is breaking, choked and the tears fall at last as she stares at the man she thought loved her. His voice is gasping, breathy and blood spits between words, dripping down his chin as he wheezes,

"I had to. My family..."

The fire in her veins turns to ice, cracking along her bones. His family. She was his family, her blood, her nephew but he chose the Starks over her. This was the man she let ride her son, Rhaegal but in the end they were both a weapon of war to him, to be used and discarded. Now that he sees what war entails, he decides to murder her like a dog, distracted by affection before serving the final blow.

Her lips pull back in their own snarl, teeth bared as she spits at him, "So be it."

She looks to Grey Worm and shakes her head once. His knife is tucked away and he grasps underneath Jon's arms to pull him to feet, where he sways, delirious by pain.

"He's my prisoner now. Make sure he lives, we're not done with him."

She turns away, striding towards Drogon who lowers his shoulder, a wing extended as a ramp and she climbs up. Her hands pull herself up and bare feet use spikes as footholds until she finds her spot between his shoulders, leaning forward as a signal when he looks back to ensure she is in place. When they turn to the throne, she makes an impulsive decision driven by her rage, by the never-ending lust of nobles who climb over each other, crushing those beneath just to be the one who sits on the Iron Throne.

" _Dracarys!_ "

She can feel Drogon's body shift underneath her, his head shooting forward as the flames erupt forth and his frills rattle violently. The throne disappears behind the ball of fire until eventually the flames part around it. She sees the metal begin to run, grey drops sliding down the edge of blades, dripping onto the floor and then the swords themself droop until it all combines into a molten mess that glides down the steps to the dais. She doesn't look back as Drogon steps around the glowing puddle, coming to the edge of the room and throws his wings open, letting loose a thundering roar. They leap off, diving down before his wings snap open to catch the wind. They fly over the gates to the keep and the flap of Drogon's wings blocks out the Dothraki screaming in unison below as she passes overhead, heading back to the camps erected outside the city.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, i was sticking to the dialogue the episode gave us while giving more insight to their actions. Like dany is trying to convince him to stay, to see her side but obvs jon is like 'not today, satan' and unfortunately satan's son took offence.
> 
> P.S. fuck the starks
> 
> long live the queen and her super duper cool dragon son


End file.
